


On Track

by ML Mead (moonlightmead)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Community: discoveredinalj, Fluff, M/M, steam trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/pseuds/ML%20Mead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie and Doyle, a day off and a very large train set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Track

"Bodie."

"Mmmf." Too content to move, Bodie's eyes followed Doyle's movement through the bedroom. He watched the play of muscles on Doyle's bare flanks as his partner leaned to pick up the next item to catch his interest.

"Bodie."

"What?"

"Why's your boiler suit smell of smoke?"

"What you doing there, Ray? Come back to bed."

"Exploring. New territory, this." He cast a glance at Bodie. "Well, it is to me. Starting to wonder about you. Found out all sorts of things about you this weekend. Finding out more now."

"Not over there, you're not. I'm over here."

"Yeah, but this isn't. Why's it all smoky?"

A groan from the bed.

"Well, why?"

"Trains."

"Trains?"

"Ray, I'll tell you all about it later. Just get back over here. Oh, bloody hell, you've got all soot on you now, look. "

"Gerroff."

"You ticklish? You have, see. Here, and-- ah!"

Like lightning, Doyle had caught Bodie's lazily moving hand and twisted his arm back down. Instinctively, Bodie tensed and pulled Doyle on top of him, grabbing the cast-aside bedspread to contain him.

"Bastard." Doyle took revenge and the bedspread was soon cast aside again.

o o o

It was Doyle's turn to sprawl on the bed. Bodie returned from the bathroom and darted a sidelong glance of amusement at him. Doyle narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Bodie stooped to retrieve a discarded sock and shoot it accurately in the direction of a laundry pile. "You. You're taking all this very well."

"Eh?" Doyle struggled up to his elbows. "You expected something different? Expected me to freak out? Make a swift phone call to Cowley? Feed you your balls through your nostrils?"

"Well, I was hoping not."

"You pulled this stunt on Friday. It's Sunday morning. I'm still here. Think we can say you're past the danger stage."

Bodie grinned. "Unless I stroke you just there..." He extended a finger.

Doyle batted him away, grimacing. "Idiot. And that reminds me. Soot. Smoke. What's all that about? You got more things I should know about, sunshine? A robot lover in the wardrobe? Coal-fired washing machine? What?"

Bodie sank onto the edge of the bed, half reclining, his arm taking his weight. His hand pressed into the mattress, the sheet taut beneath it. He aligned himself towards Doyle, carefully leaving an inch between them, for Doyle to bridge if he chose to.

"Trains. A railway society. Hinton preserved railway." His voice became animated. "It's got a mile or two of track, two locos – well, two when the other one's back from the workshop, anyway - rolling stock, everything. Tourists in the summer."

Doyle tilted his head. Whatever he had expected, this was clearly not it. "So you go and – what? Look at trains?"

"Drive them, Ray. I go and drive trains. And lay track. And polish engines. And take engines apart."

"Fine. Drive trains. Lay track. Take things apart. You drive trains? And you never told me? You bastard."

Bodie considered Doyle's obsession for classic cars, clapped-out bikes, and taking spanners and wrenches to any mechanical articles which looked like they should either come apart or fit together better. Got him.

"Telling you now." He sighed theatrically. "I suppose I'm going to get no peace now, am I? Not until you've seen the thing."

He was right.

o o o

"Right, we're off."

Their first weekend off since that explosive and revelatory weekend of a month ago. Doyle stood in the yard of Hinton Railway Society and stared at railway heaven. Not only a train to drive – well, no, an engine, apparently it couldn't be a train unless it was pulling something – but a steam engine. In full steam. He wiped an oily hand across his forehead, leaving a smear through the soot already covering his face, ran his hand through his hair, and laid a companionable elbow on Bodie's shoulder, flashing a grin as he contemplated the engine. Bodie remained still briefly, then twitched out from under Doyle's weight and clapped his arm around his shoulders.

They had arrived early in the day and put in their dues polishing the rescued engine, carting wheelbarrows of coal up and down planks ("I just polished that bit, and there's bloody coal dust all over it already." "You love it, Ray." "Okay. Yeah, actually, I do." and a white-toothed grin split across a dusty face. "Something... good... about this," arms gesturing to encompass the whole experience), and avoiding the membership secretary, who was keen to see all new arrivals furnished with the dates of the AGM. Doyle had been predictably fascinated with the shed and its contents, had bonded with several members over the Beeching cuts and the loss of the Matlock and Buxton line of his childhood, and had managed to fend off the approaches of four different people wanting to know more about Bodie and, variously, which regiment he had been in, whether he could be persuaded to stand for the committee, and could Doyle enlighten the members about the incident with the elephant on the line, an event an intrigued Doyle feigned reticent silence on, while privately vowing to extract the full details as soon as possible.

Bodie practically had to drag him away from the shed. "Doyle. Thought you wanted to drive an engine?"

"I do." He looked at Bodie again. "What, we're going to? Now?"

We, noticed Bodie absently. Not I.

He grinned as widely as Doyle. "C'mon."

The engine, or loco -- just not a train -- was in full steam. They gazed at it. Referred to as a small engine by society members – when it wasn't an Austerity or the J94 - it still towered above the platform. Six wheels took its weight. A small dome and a short chimney projected from the main cylindrical bulk, steam hissing from it as they regarded it.

A donkey-jacketed man peered down from the cab. "Bodie? You're down for the first run. Ready?"

Bodie nudged Doyle. "C'mon, then."

The man looked at Doyle and nodded amicably and turned to Bodie. "Showing him the ropes? Fireman? Or just along for the ride?"

"No, he's firing today. Don't worry, Joe, your sciatica is safe."

Doyle watched as Joe clambered down the steps to the platform. He had a good idea what the fireman's job would involve, and Joe didn't look as if he would relish all the bending. Doyle swung himself up into the cab, peered through the windows at the front, noted the lack of doors to the side – simply doorways, gaps to fall out through on each side – looked at the gauges and controls at the front, looked back at Bodie and grinned. "So what don't I touch?"

Bodie had hung back to let Doyle go first and to admire his own personal view. He propelled himself onto the platform and grinned conspiratorially. "Anything until we're out of sight. I'll take her out, we'll go straight down the line to the end, stop, and you can bring her back up. It's not hard. Need to keep the steam up, though, and that means anticipating ahead of time."

Doyle nodded, familiar with the principle. "So what is everything?"

"Right. Regulator – that's for setting off and speed, and it's here--"

"What, no wheel?"

Bodie made to cuff him. "Fool. It's not like we can turn off at a side-road."

Doyle grinned unrepentantly. "I know. Okay, so that's the regulator, that must be the brake" – he reached to tap a lever – "and this must be the whistle." He laid his hand on a piece of chain dangling at the top of the cabin and constrained halfway down. He looked at Bodie inquiringly.

Bodie smothered a grin. "Go on. You're dying to."

With a look of glee, Doyle seized the chain and tugged hard. A full-voiced whistle shattered the air. Doyle let out a laugh of exhilaration, his eyes catching Bodie's in complicity. He pulled another blast out of it, and then dropped it.

"The train now departing the platform," intoned Bodie, "is the CI5 special to nowhere, calling at Doyle's Bottom--" he made to pat the item in question, Doyle dodging just in time and making a shocked look which tested Bodie's composure "—and Anson's Round."

Doyle laughed. "Right."

"All aboard for the CI5 special," completed Bodie. With a whoop that surprised Doyle, Bodie pulled smoothly on the regulator and with a small jerk and then a gentle acceleration, they were off.

The platform streamed steadily by and fell away. The beating sound of the choof-choof-choof speeded up until it attained a steady rate, plunging forward to – where? There were two windows facing forward in the cab. Doyle looked through the one on the left to gain a view of the front of the engine and little else, and leaned bodily out of the open space on the footplate, his hands gripping the rim where the aperture widened at waist height and the rest of him halfway out. He was looking ahead at open ground, moss-grey trees separating the track from the fields and barbed wire fencing glinting in the weak sun. Up ahead, the trees became thicker and the tracks disappeared down a leafy corridor of birch and beech. The smell of the smoke returned to his nostrils. Bodie hauled on the brake.

Doyle looked at him interrogatively. "We stopping already? Forgot to go before we left, did we?"

"Nah. Can do that into the fire. For you to shut the gate."

"What?"

"Seriously, Ray, see up ahead in the fence? We got the first ride today, so we need to check the gate. Needs to be shut once we're in steam and running, stop the sheep getting onto the track."

"Sheep?"

"Yeah. Very messy. You don't want to have to clear up a sheep."

"No lamb-burgers, I take it."

"Not enough left. Not even for stew."

Doyle considered this. "And I get to do the gate?"

"I'm driving, Ray." Bodie explained kindly. "Can't leave it, can I?"

"Hmph." Doyle turned this over in his head and headed for the opening.

"Don't jump," advised Bodie. "No platform. Long way down."

Doyle swung himself down lightly and sauntered to the gate. In the thin spring light, he was silhouetted against the fence. He looked out across the field he had cut off and then gazed back at the engine. A tilt of the head in satisfaction. "It's shut."

"Okay, good. Get yourself back up here and give me some steam."

Doyle pulled himself into the cab again. "How much coal d'you want?"

"Not that much, it's only a small loco. Say half a bucket?"

Doyle nodded. He turned and found the small opening behind him, took the shovel Bodie proffered, bent easily, and scooped up the coal. His boiler suit tightened over his hips and rear, revealing the outline of his body. One hand on the regulator and one eye on the track, Bodie watched in satisfaction as Doyle transferred his weight to his other foot, pivoted efficiently, bent further yet – the material taut against his shoulders as well, now - and dropped his coal into the fire. Shadows deepened in folds as Doyle stood up and the material relaxed again. Definitely a view to savour. And to repeat.

"More?"

"Mmm. Oh yeah, I think so." A thought struck Bodie. "There, right in at the back. Might have to stretch a bit further to reach, mind."

His prediction was correct. Doyle attacked the coal pile with more confidence now, and scooped up a considerable shovelful. Required to move more carefully, he performed the same operation at half the speed. Tense shoulders to adjust for the new weight. The material tautened. Tense thighs to swing round, fabric stretching to cover the movement. And then holding his balance, he thrust the shovel to the back of the grate and spread the coals around it. A shower of sparks leapt up and Doyle pulled back suddenly, knuckles tightened on the shovel, before they faded into the air and he relaxed, spreading the coal again.

Keeping one eye on the track for sheep proved more difficult when Doyle was bent over, his face flushed with heat and concentration. Bodie succumbed to temptation and let his left hand wander. It wasn't as if he needed two hands to steer this: where was it going to go anyway?

"Bodie!"

A yelp of surprise, but not of irritation.

"Gerroff, you." Doyle straightened and turned, his face relaxed. "Look where we ended up last time you started trying this on."

"Don't have to try," Bodie pointed out. "Know it's on." He raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be driving a train?"

"Engine, Ray. Engine. Loco, in fact. If you don't remember the difference before we get there, you won't be driving it back. I'll leave you at the halt."

Doyle laughed. He leaned on his shovel, every inch the efficient fireman. "We got enough steam now?"

Bodie gave an abstracted nod and then brightened. "Although... if you feel like shovelling a bit more in, don't let me stop you. Lovely view there, you know."

Doyle raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I'll find out all about it on the way back."

Bodie's look was guileless.

"Why," Doyle asked the air uneasily, "do I get the feeling you've put one over me?"

"Hmm?" Bodie was reassurance personified. "Would I do that?"

"Yes. You damn well would." Doyle glared, then relaxed onto his shovel again. "You're lucky it's a day like this. Day out. Steam. And sheds. And... stuff. Seriously, Bodie, this is good." He gestured at the wood they were moving through, a bank of primroses reflecting the dappled light back up.

Bodie's shoulders relaxed a little. "Good. Wanted you to like it."

Doyle cast a glance at him. "Yeah." He eyed the fire, slotted the shovel neatly where it wouldn't fall out of the cab, and moved closer to merge into Bodie's shadow. Close enough that he would be able to drape himself around him, but not actually touching him, a slow field of awareness building up in the inch between them. Breathing in the scent of his hair. Bodie and smoke. Bodie and smoke and the regular noise of the engine. Bodie and smoke and the engine and the smudge of soot at the back of his neck, streaked by the passage of a droplet of sweat. "C'mon on then. Show me where we're going. Show me how."

Bodie didn't speak for a moment. Doyle didn't move, content to stand there. He had the sudden impression that Bodie, unable to see him without turning, knew exactly where he was standing, could see exactly what he could see, was sharing exactly the same endless moment.

"Regulator." Bodie reached without looking for Doyle's hand and lifted it into place. "Brake." He moved to the left and groped for Doyle's left hand behind him. "You don't need that yet. Or the whistle." He paused. "Of course, if you want to let off steam..."

Doyle laughed, low and dirty. "Know that bit, don't I?" Saying nothing, Bodie guided Doyle's left hand and laid it gently on the brake, not moving his hand away. They stood motionless, the train carrying them forward, the sleepers disappearing under the wheels – chunk, chunk, chunk... The trees hung over the track, the white smoke dissipating as it rose through the branches.

Doyle's voice broke the silence. "We coming to the end of the li-- the halt thing?"

Bodie noted the correction even as he flipped back to instructor mode. "The halt thing. Jesus, Doyle, and you think you're a mechanic. The halt thing, yes. The platform, even. The platform where you are taking an engine to, not a train. Okay, haul on the brake lever."

Doyle raised an eyebrow and pulled experimentally. Feeling the resistance, he set himself and pulled more strongly. He felt the deceleration begin. The clanking of the cylinders slowed and ceased. The engine continued forward despite its loss of power.

"Good. That's all you need." Bodie's voice was reassuring.

The brake slowly overcame the momentum of the engine, which pulled to a halt. Steam continued to issue quietly and slowly. Doyle looked at their surroundings silently.

"It's okay. You can get out. We've got a bit of time here."

Doyle looked at Bodie. "Yeah?"

Bodie nodded. "Didn't meet any problems on the way. Well ahead of schedule, we are."

Doyle climbed down to the platform and turned a leisurely circle, taking in his surroundings. "It really is a platform. And a tr-- engine." Unspoken was the satisfaction of driving. He came back to himself and considered the platform more carefully before looking at Bodie. "Okay, you people are mad. A platform. To nowhere. In the middle of a wood. We're in a wood. What's the point of that?"

Bodie made a dismissive gesture. "It's got to stop somewhere." He grinned. "Believe it or not, a railway with two stations is a service. A railway with one is an entertainment."

"You're doing this for entertainment anyway," Doyle pointed out.

"Yeah, but something to do with taxes. You pay less if you're a service. It's cheaper this way. And anyway, it's got to have a platform." Bodie was definite on this point. Doyle let the matter drop: he felt obscurely that Bodie was right on this point. Even this platform, little more than a block of concrete, with no buildings, no walls, a heap of coal, and a small water tank seemed more... more suitable than just a pair of buffers.

The engine continued to hiss away to itself. Doyle turned on his heel in another full circle, surveying the woodland. The sound of birdsong was astonishingly loud. He looked back to Bodie. "S'nice here. Peaceful. No-one here for another mile or so." His expression turned speculative, and his tone became contemplative. "But... a bit... open?"

Bodie nodded ruefully. "I know. No-one here, and then there's the dog-walkers, and the bird-watchers, and the..." He shrugged, tailing off., before brightening. "Mind you...". He flicked his eyes back to the cab.

Doyle followed his gaze and looked back to him consideringly.

"Express train home, you reckon?"

Their eyes met in complicity.

"Don't break any speed limits."

Doyle grinned. "Come on, you. Show me how to drive this thing again. And let's see that view you've been leching over all the way up." He was stepping back towards the engine as he spoke. Bodie took care to follow, achieving another fine view of the Doyle rear as its owner ascended the steps into the cab before him.

"Right." Doyle was already at the controls, eyes bright with excitement. "Regulator... brake... hey, hang on." He turned to Bodie. "We're facing the wrong way. Where's reverse?"

Bodie set himself to applying the reversing lever. "Mmf. There."

"Wait, so we're going back backwards? Can't see out of the back windows. So I get no view?"

"You didn't bother with the windows on the way here!" Bodie was amazed at Doyle's complaint. "You spent half the ride hanging off the footplate!"

"And the other half bent double with a shovel," Doyle reminded him. "Which reminds me. Get going." He sighed at Bodie's smirk. "Okay. What did I miss?"

"It's only a small engine, Ray. You did a good job shovelling. And we were going uphill." He gestured, as Doyle, resigned, saw what was coming.

"It's downhill all the way from here, isn't it? Plenty of steam already. We don't need any more coal on. You utter sod."

He threw a spare rag at Bodie. "Get out of here. I ought to make you walk for that."

"After all I do for you." Bodie fielded the rag and brandished it at Doyle. "God, you're a mess." He spat on the rag and made as if to clean Doyle's cheek.

Doyle dodged automatically, throwing up an arm. "Get off!"

He tried to punch Bodie low, but Bodie had wisely anticipated retaliation and jerked back. Doyle straightened and grabbed Bodie by the shoulders instead, attempting to hook his ankle and pull him forward into his reach. "You..."

The touch of their legs together tingled. Bodie took shameless advantage of recently acquired knowledge of sensitive spots and drove them both back against the front of the cab, laughing.

Doyle felt his groin tauten and cursed his timing. He flailed for purchase against the corner, his arm tangling unexpectedly in... a cable? A rope? Oh, bloody hell. That chain.

The whistle shattered the air. Endlessly. Doyle slumped.

"Doyle!" Bodie backed off, smirking. "There's letting off steam, and there's letting off steam."

Doyle tried to maintain his composure before bursting into a brilliant grin. "Not me who'll be building it back up. Go on. Get to it."

Nothing loath, Bodie applied himself to the task with industry, aware of Doyle's proprietorial gaze on him. Three shovelfuls. That ought to do it. Efficiently, he slid the shovel into the coal and carefully swung round, demonstrating how to perform the task with a maximum of efficiency. He looked up to see Doyle's eyes burning into him. Straightened up.

"Come on, then. Show us what you've learned."

Doyle tilted his head and quirked his mouth, a promise for the future. He turned to face the front of the cab and reached a hand out.

"Regulator."

Bodie nodded. Doyle pulled the handle back smoothly. The engine jerked and moved gently backwards. Doyle applied more pressure. Its speed increased.

"That's it. All the way home."

"We coming back here, Bodie?"

"You want to?"

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "Yeah."

Bodie nodded. "Good."

Doyle grinned. "Wanna see you play fireman on the way out next time."

"Stoke your fire anytime, Ray."

After that, the ride home was effortless, as they coasted gently on the built-up steam.

**Author's Note:**

> Written Feb 2012. First posted Dec 2012 (on LJ: Discovered In A Livejournal: Christmas 2012 challenge).
> 
> There really is an engine called the Austerity. I feel sure Cowley would approve. I'm afraid it's true about train-meets-sheep, too. Sorry. 
> 
> As far as I know, none of the Hintons in Britain have a railway society. If they do, it isn't this one.


End file.
